


Cas and Sam are worried about Dean

by happylindsay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel Can Hear Longing, Dean In Love, Demon violence, Demons, Depressed Dean, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Worried Castiel, Worried Sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-02 21:56:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 15,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5265149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happylindsay/pseuds/happylindsay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dean joked around characteristically, winking at a tall blonde woman who walked by. At first it seemed rather typical, but then Sam realized Dean looked too happy, smiling bigger, laughing louder, and drinking more readily than typical. Dean was trying too hard. Something was definitely wrong."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Worries

“Sometimes when I'm around people, I can sense emotions they're feeling.” Cas said this to Sam quietly as they watched Dean go up to the bar to order them a drink. He continued: “I think it was for the purpose of helping humans when they're in need.” 

Sam nodded, wondering why the sudden confession appeared in the middle of a typical post-hunt night at the bar. 

Cas motioned towards Dean. “He's deeply unhappy, Sam. I've sensed it for months. Ever since I came back to stay with you at the bunker.” 

Dean was making his way back now, and both men were looking at the hunter as he walked. 

“Something is wrong, and it worries me," finished Cas. 

Sam, surprised at this, looked at Dean, wondering what would make Cas say that. But, after Dean made his way back to the table, Sam watched his brother. Really watched him. Dean joked around characteristically, winking at a tall blonde woman who walked by. At first it seemed rather typical, but then Sam realized; Dean looked too happy, smiling bigger, laughing louder, and drinking more readily than typical. Sam frowned. How had he not seen it? Dean was always trying to protect Sam, even from his own emotions and troubles. Sam hadn't noticed before, but now that Cas had pointed it out, he couldn't miss it. Dean was trying far too hard. Something was definitely wrong. 

On the car ride home, Cas sat up front with Sam so that they could lay Dean on the back seat after he'd passed out. The trip was silent for a bit until Sam brought up their earlier conversation. 

“What do you think is going on?” Sam asked Cas, concerned. 

Cas frowned, glancing back at Dean's sleeping form. “I don't know, Sam, but clearly something is bothering him. Not to say that the two of you don't have reason to be depressed, but most of the trauma is over. The mark of Cain is gone. You've been healed. Both of you finally have a home.” Cas paused, “Perhaps it's ptsd.” 

Sam's face looked tired and sad as Cas said this. He kept his hands on the steering wheel. “We've got to figure out how to help him,” Sam said, pleading. 

Cas nodded, “You know I'd do anything for Dean.” 

Sam didn't say anything, but simply nodded. 

In the back seat of the Car, Dean opened his eyes briefly, glancing at Cas, his face lit up by the headlights shining over the dashboard. Even from this angle, Dean could see Cas's blue eyes reflecting brilliantly in the light, his hair slightly mussed, and his expression serious. 

_I'd do anything for Dean._ Dean felt his mouth go dry as he listened to the conversation at the front of the car. Cas's silhouette still visible, Dean looked at the man feeling a strong wave of love and longing wash over him. _Anything?_ He thought. _Love me back._

Cas must have felt the wave too, because he turned to look back at Dean just in time to miss him closing his eyes again. 


	2. Good Morning

_Ten-year-old Dean was in a tiny motel kitchen, cartoons playing in the other room as he made mac and cheese. He burned himself on the stove._

_“Shit,” he cursed in his boyish voice. He ran his hands under the cold water, barely noticing half of Sam peeking out from the door frame, his one visible eye fixed on his older brother._

_“You ok?” asked Sam timidly._

“ _I'm fine,” Dean spat impatiently, nursing the burn. “Go back to your show.”_

_Sam shuffled the foot that Dean could see, finally peeking his entire head out from behind the wall._

_“I just wanted to make sure” said Sam softly._

_Dean sighed, raising his hand up to Sam to show him he was ok. “See?” he said, holding it underneath the light,“No big Deal.” He walked up to his little brother, Dean's head barely a foot taller, but his voice was sure._

“ _You're the little kid, Sammy, it's my job to watch out for you,” Dean said, his face serious. Sam nodded, but didn't move to leave._

_Dean sighed, then placed his hands on Sam's shoulders, ignoring the sting from his burn. “Sam,” he said slowly, “I don't need anybody. Now go watch your cartoons.”_

_* * *_

Dean's eyes flew open as he woke from his dream. He rolled over grabbing his head with his palms, groaning. He didn't know if it was his sleeping trip down memory lane, or his drinking from the night before, but he had a massive headache. He squinted against the sun's light streaming in from the windows before falling out of bed and making his way to the kitchen.

“'Morning,” came Sam's voice and Dean grimaced at the sound, making his way to the medicine cabinet. Cas smiled slightly as Dean walked by and the hunter ran into the side of an open cupboard.

“Damn it, Sam,” he said, shutting it loudly.

Sam laughed. “You had too much to drink last night, Dean,” he said.

So quickly it could almost be missed, Dean glanced at Cas. “Not nearly enough,” he said quietly. Cas scrunched his eyebrows, giving a concerned look. Sam continued cooking, the sound of sizzling bacon permeating the kitchen.

By the end of breakfast and two ibuprofen, Dean seemed to be feeling better. “Whelp,” he said, “what's on the schedule for today?”

Sam looked at him, his face showing hesitation. “Grocery shopping,” he said, waiting for Dean's bored face. It didn't surface, so he continued. “Look, I know you hate that kind of menial crap, but. . .”

Dean sprung to his feet, quickly. “It's fine, let's get going,” he said, downing his orange juice. When both Sam and Dean gave him confused looks, he replied a little too enthusiastically: “We gotta eat, don't we? Let's get a move on.”

Sam shrugged and Cas's face was unreadable. Dean glanced at Cas's messy hair, the back of it touching the collar of Dean's borrowed jacket and T-shirt. He looked away, feeling heat creeping up the back of his neck. _Just keep busy,_ he thought, feet shuffling quickly as the group cleared breakfast and made their way to the car.

Once they got there, Dean sat in the driver's seat, letting out a small sigh of relief as Cas sat behind the passenger's seat. He was glad he couldn't see Cas in the rear view mirror. _I don't need anybody,_ Dean thought, willing himself not to look back at the denim clad angel staring out the window of the back of his car.


	3. Pie and Little Secrets

The grocery store was packed. Dean calculated the days of the week in his head, finally realizing it was a Saturday. That explained the shopping rush.

It wasn't uncommon for Dean to forget what day it was. Each day seemed to blur together, the passing hour's only distinguishing characteristic being whether or not a certain angel was around. And, for the most part, Cas was. Except at night.

It made sense, Dean noted to himself. Angels didn't sleep. Cas had to be doing something with his time while the two hunters caught some shut eye. But, the truth was that Cas wasn't the only person who had trouble sleeping at night. Dean had suffered from insomnia since the angel arrived, with the exception of being black out drunk. Besides this tactic, Dean had only found one other way sleep. . . _I can't think about this right now,_ Dean thought, pushing his cart forward in search of Orange Juice.

The grocery store music played mellow tunes in the background as Dean grabbed random packages from shelves and refrigerators tossing them distractedly into the cart. He turned a corner and saw Cas rummaging through the fresh fruit, inspecting it for bruising. Dean positioned himself slightly behind one of the isles in order to watch the angel without being seen. He smiled as Cas rapped on a watermelon with his fist, then shook it in the air next to his ear before putting it back. The poor man looked helpless shopping for fruit he wouldn't even be eating. Yet, here he was, spending his Saturday with the two of them, looking pleased to be included in their mundane human chores.

Cas looked Dean's way, and, for a moment, Dean thought the angel had spotted him spying. Instead, the dark haired man walked a few steps forward, reaching up onto a shelf in Dean's direction. Cas's hands wrapped around something, and he started smiling shyly. Curious, Dean leaned away from his hiding place to see what the angel was looking at. When he did, he blushed as he watched Cas place the gigantic berry pie into his basket.

He found himself smiling tenderly at the angel, and, as if on cue, Cas caught him, returning the expression. _How does he always do that?_ Dean wondered, abruptly ducking back behind the shelves as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. Embarrassed, he quickly found Sam and rushed them through check out, not speaking as he loaded the groceries into the trunk of the impala.

On the car ride home, he tried to stop himself from looking at the angel in his rear view mirror, unsuccessfully. Sometimes he thought it might be easier if Cas wasn't around. And yet, the thought of him leaving made Dean sick. No, he'd rather have him here, even if he didn't feel the same way. And, having Cas near him was always the best option, no matter the form their relationship took.

Dean looked at the angel's messy hair as he stared out the window and the hunter came to the conclusion that he'd always take Cas in any form he came. _After all,_ he thought to the angel in the back seat, _I'm in love with him._ And, the moment he thought it, Cas's eyes met Dean's, his blue stare intense. Dean looked away a little spooked, reminding himself that angel's couldn't read minds to try and calm himself down.

* * *

It was midnight when Dean heard the door to the bunker creak open and close again. The hunter often wondered what Cas did on his long nightly walks. And, though Dean would never admit it, the thought of Cas wandering alone in the pitch black of night made Dean worry. It had been awhile since any of them had experienced any attacks, and the bunker had proven to be secure. . . still, Dean had seen Cas covered in blood too many times to assume they were ever completely safe. But Cas left every night, and Dean had finally started to come to terms with it. Cas was as close to them as Dean could ask, and if he needed a little nighttime autonomy from the hunters, then Dean couldn't blame him. So, the hunter squashed his desire to follow the angel, just as he did each night, and attempted to relax into his bed.

He tossed and turned lightly for a few minutes before sitting up running his fingers through his hair, exasperated. Every night he tried to fall asleep before he would finally admit to himself what he needed. Sighing, he quickly grabbed a pillow, peeking his head out into the hallway, checking for signs of Sam.

He crept through the corridors, feet padding quietly on the cold floor before reaching his destination. Furtively, he opened the door to Cas's room, walking to the bed. He spied Cas's trench coat hanging in the closet, the tie draped over the hook of the hanger. The room had started out empty, but over the months Cas had spent there, the angel had started to accumulate some possessions of his own to put in the room, most of them from Dean.

Dean pulled down the covers of the neatly made bed, crawling inside. Cas had never slept here, but the whole room spoke of him. Dean nestled inside the blankets, breathing deeply, finally allowing himself to relax inside his cocoon of Castiel. He set his phone alarm to wake him up early so as to be gone before the angel returned, then shut his eyes. He vaguely remembered thinking that he hoped he would never be caught before he drifted easily to sleep, his dreams blanketed with images of grocery stores and pie.


	4. The Night Shift

Cas walked through the darkened streets trailing on and off the sidewalk, strolling lazily to his destination with one of Dean's borrowed backpacks on. It probably would have been a strange look had he not recently taken to wearing more human attire, and though he'd never admit it, he'd had ulterior motives for that change; the clothes he borrowed smelled like Dean. That, and the fact that Dean had seemed to inexplicably like Cas wearing them kept him in the habit.

As he walked, the bright moon cast long, milky white blankets of light across the ground, making it easy for him to see. Not that he needed it. As an angel, he could easily navigate through the pitchest of black without difficulty. And yet, he enjoyed the soft glow of the moon, making all the harsh edges of the landscape seem somehow smoother. But, even a full moon wasn't enough to comfort him tonight. He usually enjoyed the silence of the nighttime; Most of the lights inside the neighborhood houses were out, and the empty roads had an air of serenity. But everything felt different right now. He couldn't relax. He couldn't shake his thoughts of Dean. Ever since he'd finally said his worries aloud to Sam, they'd started to feel real. Dean wasn't ok, and the thought of it made Cas miserable.

Cas kicked at some pebbles as he walked, sending them careening down the slanted asphalt road he was on. _What is going on with you, Dean?_ he mused. He thought of the curious agitation he had felt each night coming from Dean's room before Cas left. In fact, it was one of the main reasons Cas had started going on his nightly walks in the first place. He couldn't be around Dean like that. Not when he didn't know how to help him.

But, curiously, it wasn't always like that. Sometimes he'd feel. . . not contentment, but maybe some waves of peace inexplicably coming from the hunter. Yesterday at the grocery store he had felt it. But, it seemed that those feelings were fleeting. Dean's emotions were waves of turbulence, and Cas was the unwitting victim of their changes, getting pulled under with each ebb and flow of the tide.

Not that he hadn't been in the orbit of chaotic human emotions before. . . but for some reason, his connection to Dean was more potent. Visceral. And he wondered, not for the first time, why that was.

Quickly, though, he brushed the thought from his mind, finally reaching his destination.

At one in the morning, the park was completely abandoned. Since he, himself, had experienced the cruelties of homelessness, he'd often wondered why this location didn't attract more derelicts at night. If he didn't have a home, he concluded, this wouldn't be a bad place to curl up for the night. The weather didn't even require a jacket. But, he supposed, there probably weren't as many people in small towns in such a difficult situation. And though he didn't know why, he concluded that it was more of a big city problem.

There was, however, one vagrant who took shelter in the park, and Cas had come to see him every night since he'd found him. So Cas quietly sat on a park bench, taking off his backpack, grabbing a small whistle he'd discreetly hidden inside Sam's shopping basket at the store. He blew on it tentatively, then set the silent whistle on his lap.

It took a moment, but soon a furry mass jumped from its hiding spot inside the bushes. The dark haired dog only had three legs and it lopped along awkwardly on them, rushing to meet Cas. The dog's tongue hung at a goofy angle out of an enthusiastic smile.

“Hercules,” Cas said endearingly as the dog licked his hands when he reached out to pet him. Cas had come up with the name somewhat ironically, thinking of the fallen god as having some similarities with Cas himself.

Cas patted the park bench beside him, but instead, Hercules jumped up onto Cas's lap, making him grunt a little in surprise. Cas laughed, petting the dog as Hercules settled himself into the comfort of the angel's warm body.

They sat that way for a long time before Cas got out the dog food and bone he had brought for Hercules, as well as an additional blanket for him (those had taken more work to sneak into the cart than the whistle). He also replenished the dog's bowl of water he'd hidden in an alcove in the bushes for him.

“I'm going to take you home with me,” he promised. “But, I can't now. It's still warm, though, and I'll be back tomorrow. Right now I have to focus on helping Dean get better. . .” Cas's face fell as he thought about Dean, wondering just how to help someone when he didn't know what was wrong. But still, as he looked at Hercules, he felt glad to have a home, and a family. _We'll figure it out,_ Cas thought, trying to cheer himself up, _We always do. . ._ and he genuinely tried to believe it.


	5. Angels

Whistling, Sam got out of the shower after his run, dressing quickly and heading to the library. Because they hadn't had a case in awhile, he'd found time to start exploring the vast literature in the bunker. It was something he not-so-secretly enjoyed, and he spent most of his down time reading. 

The men of letters library was big enough that he knew he would never be able to read it all. But, instead of that discouraging him, it somehow excited him in a way he couldn't explain, as if it were a challenge to fill his mind to the brim with all the ancient secrets of their legacy. 

He wasn't sure exactly when this feeling had started creeping up on him. He hadn't always felt this way. Maybe it was time. Or, maybe it had something to do with the way the three of them had been able to avoid any serious and prolonged hunting by playing house for so long. Either way, it was as if this part of him had suddenly found room again in his life. Not studying to kill, to survive or even to protect, but simply to feed his mind. This left Sam open to all sorts of creative avenues as he inundated himself with the complexities of the men of letters library. And, as he did, he found himself thinking more and more that perhaps his grandfather's lifestyle suited him more than his father's. 

And so, he happily plucked books from the shelves studying them informally, the table starting color with the white of exposed pages where he'd left some of the books open. 

He dropped his most recent pile down, and began tugging at a lonely forsaken volume. It was one of the smallest books that Sam had found and it was coated in dust. Blowing, Sam rubbed the grime off the cover with his thumb to reveal the title. The letters were all in bold, and the text appeared extremely old. Sam inhaled in surprise as he read the one word written on the front: 

_SERAPHIM_

He flipped the text open, thumbing through the pages, stopping somewhere in the middle, opening the book fully. Inside, there was a large drawing of the skeleton of an angel. Sam ran his finger across the picture, curiously examining the extra ribs, thick spinal column and long slender bone structure that fused into the spine, sweeping out away from the body in the outline of wings. 

Sam's eyes skimmed to the bottom of the page where it read: _Assumed skeletal structure of an angel while inside its chosen vessel drawn from eye witness accounts and historical documents from the few who have testified of having seen their wings. While the increased width of the backbone and extra ribs are assumed to help hold the weight of the wings, it is unclear what their form would look like outside of a chosen vessel. It seems that being inhabited by an angel somehow alters the physical human form temporarily while the human is being possessed to inhabit the body's new occupant._

Sam turned to the next page which identified the known abilities of angels in a list format. Sam skimmed these, eyes wide. _My god,_ he thought, _what is this book? This is. . ._

"Sam," came a voice, startling him from his absorption, and the hunter immediately dropped the volume, watching it tumble under the table, smacking the floor loudly by his feet. 

"Oh, hey, Cas," he said, his voice nervous. He knew he hadn't read anything about Cas himself, per say, but somehow he felt like he'd been caught reading Cas's diary, and Sam's face went red. 

Cas looked at Sam curiously, eyebrows furrowed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he said, "I just saw that you were up, and I was wondering if I could ask you something." 

Sam quickly picked up the book, setting it on the table, cover down, spine facing away from Cas to hide the title. "Sure," he said, trying to sound casual, the book eyeing him from the tabletop. He leaned forward, lacing his hands together. "Shoot," he started, but then, seeing Cas's confused face he corrected: "it just means to go ahead." 

Cas nodded, grabbing the back of an empty chair at the table with both hands, wearing his predictable, candid features, and Sam smiled thinking of how much he enjoyed the earnest demeanor of their angel friend. 

Cas tilted his head a tiny bit as he often did when analyzing human behavior he found strange, but what came out of his mouth was the last thing Sam could have expected: "Do you know why Dean has been sleeping in my bed?" 


	6. It's all about timing

Dean's phone buzzed by his ear, waking him up. He stretched briefly, orienting himself to his surroundings before he realized where he was. From the library he heard the faint voices of Sam and Cas talking.

“Shit!” he said, looking at his phone. _How are they already up?_

He quickly got up and made Cas's bed, hoping his hasty job of it wouldn't attract any notice. Then, he peeked his head out, peering down the hall before booking it back to his room. He shut the door behind him, breathing heavily as he leaned against it.

 _That was close,_ he thought, fully awake now, his heart beating in his chest. He got dressed, and, after calming himself down a bit, he went to the kitchen for breakfast.

When he arrived, it seemed that Cas and Sam had migrated there, talking about a possible case. Dean was glad to hear it. _I need to get out of the bunker,_ he thought. He looked at Cas. _Badly_.

“What's going on?” he asked, alerting the two men of his presence. They both turned, looking surprised, and Dean eyed them curiously.

“What?” he asked, looking at them, his face equally searching. The two appeared guilty. “You two look like I just caught you looking at porn. What's up?” Both men glanced at each other, and then looked at Dean, Cas finally piping up.

“It's nothing,” he said, “we were just talking about a possible case Sam came across this morning.”

“Great,” said Dean, grabbing a piece of bread and slotting it in the toaster. He turned back towards Cas, leaning his back on the counter, his hands gripping the edge.

From here, Dean had a clear vantage point of Cas. The angel hadn't changed from last night to today, a feat Dean was sure he hadn't accomplished. He ruffled his own hair in response, feeling the bed head acutely beneath his fingers. He probably looked like a mess. But not Cas. The angel's hair was untidy, he supposed, but it was working for him. Or at least it was working for Dean. He found his eyes following the stubble along the angel's jaw, down his throat, and to his shirt. Well, not _his_ shirt. Dean's. And every time he saw Cas in his clothes. . . Well, it was a new kind of torture.

“Dean?” Cas asked, bringing the hunter back from his musings. Dean felt his face go red as he realized he'd been staring and it hadn't gone unnoticed by either man.

“Yeah,” he replied, turning to grab his toast, trying to look nonchalant.

“You ok?” Cas said, coming and putting a warm hand on Dean's shoulder from behind. Dean's breathing increased, and he shoved it off lightly, walking past Cas to get a plate.

“Fine,” he said, smiling back over his shoulder awkwardly, then plopping himself in a chair, he started to eat his toast without any toppings, not making eye contact.

Cas furrowed his eyebrows, but continued. “Ok,” he said. “Well, like we said, we think there is a new case.” Dean finally looked up, having downed his breakfast in five bites. He was still chewing when Cas said, “Demons, we think.” He put a paper down in front of Dean, and Dean scanned it, eyes furrowing.

 _Demons,_  Dean thought. It had been awhile since they'd fought a Demon. He didn't know exactly what had happened between he and Crowley, but there had been a strange understanding between the hunter and the king of hell. _N_ _ot anymore,_ he thought, looking at the news story of a brutalized family. He needed this, he admitted to himself. Almost as much as he had when he'd had the mark, but in a different way.

“Where?” he asked, the excitement starting to make its way to his chest. Cas leaned over him, close enough that Dean could feel his body heat. The angel reached his hand forward, pointing the front page of the paper. He turned to Dean, his face close, and Dean looked at him in surprise. Finally, Cas confirmed his conclusion:

“Dean,” he said, “the Demons are here.”


	7. Freedom

Dean grabbed his neglected bag from under his bed, plopping it on top of the covers and unzipping it. He immediately started loading it with an assortment of weapons. Far more than he needed, but he was excited, and it made him antsy. He tightened his tie then grabbed his coat from his closet putting it on, flipping down the upturned collar as a silhouette appeared in his door frame. 

“Ready?” came Cas's voice. Dean glanced at the angel. He was back in his suit and beige trench coat, putting his fake FBI badge into his coat pocket. He looked good. Really good. But, for the first time in months, it was only a passing thought in Dean's head. The hunter slung the bag over his shoulder, walking out of the room with a determined step and a deep “Hell yeah” in reply. 

* * * 

Dean drove faster than the speed limit on every road they were on, simply smiling without acknowledging Sam's protests. He cranked up the music, rolling down the window as he drove. _Freedom,_ he thought, feeling liberated. It's not that they hadn't been on hunts over the past few months. They had. But most of them had been small, and quite a few had panned out to be nothing. But this. This was promising. Dean was finally going to be able to get away from his head, and the notion of it thrilled him. 

For months, his thoughts had been trapped in a constant loop of Cas. He was wound up, and his obsession had begun turning to anxiety. He was starting to feel like a different person. _This isn't me,_ he thought. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, he wondered, not for the first time, why after all the shit he and Sam had been through, none of it seemed to have the affect on him that one awkward, unassuming angel could. The truth was, Dean wasn't even sure if before now he truly realized how much it infuriated him. He needed to take back some control. And tonight he would. 

They pulled up to the police station, Dean slamming the door more loudly than he usually would have. The hunter adjusted his tie, not waiting for the other two men before entering the building. 

Inside, the office had a cramped, stuffy feeling to it. A few people were coming and going, but, for the most part, the precinct gave off an air of inadequacy. Phones rang, unanswered while Dean spied a few detectives in the back room sneaking alcohol beneath the table. 

The atmosphere didn't necessarily bother him. In fact, it was easier on the hunters if the police were inept; then they were far less likely to question their badges, and more readily let them take the lead. Still, it didn't hurt if the local cops were at least capable enough to gather useful details about the event. He looked around the room, doubting that this was the case. 

He walked up to the man at the front desk, flashing his badge, nudging Cas to to the same. Briefly, he contemplated just how intense the three of them must have appeared. Sam and Dean had been an intimidating pair by themselves, purely in terms of height. And though he wasn't as tall as the other two men, Cas still wasn't short. Besides, now that Cas had been getting over his awkward learning curve when it came to investigating, he had gotten some of his edge back. _Maybe we shouldn't have all come together,_ he mused. But, it was too late for that, now, he supposed. 

“Back there,” he heard the man say to Sam after his brother had asked specifics about the case. And, to Dean's surprise, the man pointed back to the two men passing a flask beneath their desks. So, the hunters strode toward the direction the man pointed, arriving at the brink of the detectives desk, Dean flashing his badge and introducing himself. 

And neither officer got up. Instead, the older detective leaned back in his chair, whistling low before uttering a quick: “well, well, FBI, aint we lucky, Beau,” Beau smiled weakly at his superiors remarks, not replying. 

“Yeah, you won the friggin' lottery,” Dean said, feeling himself getting annoyed. “Listen, is there a place we can talk? We're just here to get the update on our case, then we'll be out of your hair.” 

The older man sighed, putting his hands heavily on his armrests to push himself out of his chair. “This way,” he said, his voice tired. _Trent,_ Dean noted, reading the name plate on the man's desk as he stood. 

Trent left his partner behind, leading the three men through a maze of desks to a small interrogating room in the back. They pulled in a few extra chairs, and soon they were all sitting around a small table. 

“Alright,” Sam started, looking at Trent. “What can you tell us about the case?” 

Trent tilted his head, rubbing one eye with the tips of his fingers and letting his letting his palm slide down his neck, blinking. “Well. . .” he started, “To be honest, we aren't really sure what happened. There was only one witness, and he wasn't a very reliable one at that.” 

Dean's eyebrows raised. “And why's that?” he questioned. 

Dean watched Trent's knee start to bounce as he talked and he noted the man unconsciously rubbing at his neck. “See for yourself,” he said. “We called him in for one more official report before he leaves.” 

Trent nodded toward a small waiting room and Dean had to strain a bit to see where he was pointing, but when he saw the witness, he sighed, sagging a little. “Damn it,” he said, shaking his head. Standing, he turned to Sam and Cas. “You two wait here,” he said, his voice sounding tired. “it'll probably be better if all of us don't go.” 

Sam and Cas nodded in agreement while Dean stood, walking toward the waiting room. 

“Hey there,” said Dean, sitting down. Two small eyes peered up at him from a tiny six-year-old body swallowed up in a gigantic police coat. The boy had his feet up on his chair, knees to his chest. He didn't reply, but simply stared at Dean, looking exhausted. 

“I'm Dean—” the hunter stopped. “. . . Detective Smith with the FBI,” he corrected. And suddenly, the boys face went white, and he sat up taller. 

“Dean Winchester?” the boy asked, pulling his knees in tighter. Dean noticed the dark circles under the boy's eyes, his hair matted and disorderly. 

Dean stiffened, noting the boy's anxious demeanor with concern.“Who's asking?” 

The boy gazed deeply into Dean's eyes, his breathing quiet and small. His tiny arms were wrapped around his legs, forming tight fists with his hands. He blinked, his voice shaky when he finally spoke. “The demons,” he said. 


	8. After

“Demons?” Dean whispered, leaning closer. He noticed that the boy's face was pale and his eyes were glossy. 

“What's your name?” he asked. 

The boy blinked a little before shaking his head, his fists tightening again. 

“It's ok,” Dean said, “you don't have to tell me. But buddy, I need to ask you a really important question, alright?” 

Dean waited, and for a moment the boy didn't respond. 

Dean nodded, continuing anyway, talking slowly: “You think you saw Demons?” Dean asked him. 

At this, the boy's gaze dropped again to the floor again, his mouth closing into a tight line. 

_Shit,_ Dean thought. _Maybe I should've sent Sam in here, he'd probably be better at this._

But when the boy didn't answer, Dean viewed him more closely. He scrutinized the child's forehead, noting a thin sheen of sweat forming. The boy's face was ashen, his lips slightly blue-ish. And, Dean realized that on closer look, the boy was shaking. 

“Shit!” he said, jumping up from where he sat, barely musing on the fact that he'd just sworn in front of a kid. “We need a doctor in here,” he yelled out the door while putting his hands on the child's arms, rubbing them, noticing just how cold he felt. 

In a moment, Sam, Trent and Cas were in the room. 

“What's wrong with him?” Sam said, walking closer. The boy looked to the wall and to the floor, quickly, appearing disoriented. 

Suddenly, a woman's voice came from the hallway. “What did you do to him?” she accused, kneeling and knocking Dean's hand away. She had a social services badge clipped to her blazer. 

“Nothing,” Dean snapped, “He's in shock. He needs medical care.” 

Quickly, Trent nodded leaving, and the woman from social services led the boy to the ground, laying him down with a jacket under his head. 

Cas looked knowingly at Dean. 

“Could you help him?” Dean asked, his voice urgent. 

Cas squinted his eyebrows, surveying the child. 

“I can try. Shock is tricky as it is an emotional, mental and physical malady.” he said, tilting his head walking closer to the boy. “But I might be able to ease the physical symptoms.” 

Dean gestured quickly toward the boy, emphasizing his speech with his hands. “What the hell are you waiting for?” 

The angel nodded and quickly strode forward to get to the child, but the woman stood up, putting a hand on his chest. 

“I don't know who the three of you are, but we need to give him some space right now until the ambulance comes,” she said, looking from one towering figure to the next, the room seeming quite small with all of them in it. Sam scooted back, but Cas blinked straight faced. 

“We're with the F.B.I.,” Cas said calmly, “and I can help.” The woman gave him a curious look, but before she could stop him, Cas had pushed his way passed her and was placing his fingers on the boy's forehead. 

“There,” he said, standing, his expression a bit inappropriately smug. Dean glanced down at the boy, who was blinking quickly, the color returning to his face, his gaze finally steady. They helped him to his feet, and he stood easily. 

But though his health appeared to have improved, his face still looked upset when he turned to Dean. He stared at him uncomfortably for a moment, and the expression was haunting. 

“James,” she said to the boy, “are you alright?” 

“Yes,” said James, eyeing Cas, and he wasn't the only one. As soon as she had determined that James was alright, she looked at Cas cautiously. 

“What did you do to him?” she asked. 

“I helped,” the angel replied in a matter of fact tone. 

One of her arms was around the boy, and she held it there protectively. 

“Right,” she said, her voice unsure. “Who did you say you were agai—” 

Suddenly EMTs rushed through the door, beginning to examine the boy, asking questions to the social worker, then turning their attention to the hunters. Dean answered the questions hastily, saying they must have been mistaken about the boy's health because he appeared fine now. Then, they quickly left, ignoring suspicious glances from the only two other people who had seen how sick James had actually been. 

“We need to talk to that kid again,” Dean said once they were in the car. He looked at the precinct, feeling a sense of empathy for the boy. After all, Dean had been about that age when monsters had started becoming real for him, too. 

Sam sighed, “I agree,” he said, “but it's going to be a bit hard to do now that social services has stepped in. And even more difficult after today's episode. I imagine it's going to take a lot of paperwork to even get within a hundred feet of him at this point. The investigation could be seen as a trigger to his psychological stress.” 

Dean nodded, agreeing that the argument could have some merit. But they needed information. Then a thought came to him. “It's been days,” he said, “why was his shock manifesting now?” 

Sam shrugged his shoulders in response, and Dean furrowed his brows. 

Then, suddenly, from the back seat, Cas's voice chimed in. “I'll do it,” he said, leaning forward. 

Dean craned around to look at him. “Do what?” 

“I can get to him, and it'll be easier than trying to fly multiple people past security,” he said, his voice confident, reminding Dean slightly of the time Cas had first declared himself a hunter. 

“Cas,” Dean said, “I'm not even sure you'd know how to talk to a kid, let alone interrogate one.” 

And in response Cas gave him a withering stare. He leaned in closer to Dean, his voice deep. “At least when I talk to children, I don't send them to the hospital, Dean,” he retored. 

And despite himself, Dean smiled. Sam did too. Dean held up his hands in hands in defeat, “Alright,” he said, “you can have babysitting duty.” 

Cas nodded, looking satisfied, and Dean put the keys in the ignition. But suddenly, he froze. “There's something else,” he said, hesitating, staring at the steering wheel. Sam and Cas didn't speak, but when Dean finally looked at them, their faces were inquisitive. 

Dean blinked, breathing deep before speaking. “The boy knew my name,” he said. “And he heard it from the Demons.” 


	9. Cotton Candy

They waited until midnight when they were sure James would be asleep. Cas had on jeans and a t-shirt again, Dean holding out a jacket for him, despite knowing that Cas wouldn't get cold. The angel smiled taking it gratefully and putting it on. 

“Alright,” Dean said, “you pop your ass back here, first sign of trouble, you got it?” 

Cas nodded, and Dean repeated the gesture back in acceptance. 

“See you soon,” Cas said, and with that, he flew from the bunker straight to James's room, landing by his bedside. They boy was sleeping, his face calmer than when they'd first met. Cas timidly walked up to him, placing a few fingers on the boy's head. 

Immediately he was transported. Cas had visited dreams before, but somehow it was always disorienting at first. The jolt into someone else's psyche could be extremely confusing until you adjusted. Cas was definitely experiencing this now. And it was aggravated by the fact that it was a child's brain. He knew from experience that the mind of a child was more malleable and disorganized than an adults. But James's brain surprised even him. Around him bright colors swirled into view, distinctive music playing in the background. Cas bent his knees, bracing himself. 

It took a moment, but slowly everything came into view. He was at a carnival. James was by a booth grabbing cotton candy from a vender. He took a large bite, turning towards Cas, and when he saw him, he let his hands fall to his sides, scrunching his eyebrows. 

“You were at the police office,” the boy said. 

Cas nodded. “Mind if we talk for a minute?” he asked. Hesitantly, James nodded. He walked over to a table and sat down. Cas joined him. 

“I'm Cas,” said the angel. 

“James,” said the boy. 

Cas nodded, then silence ensued for a moment. James looked at Cas as if he wanted to say something, but didn't. Cas tilted his head questioningly, waiting. 

Finally, James opened his mouth. “Are you an alien?” he blurted out, then blushed a little. “Cause. . . you did something. Made me feel better. Like magic. Or like an alien.” 

Cas smiled. The poor kid had no frame of reference for the things he had been experiencing. Cas felt a sense of familiarity with the situation. “Close enough,” he replied. 

The boy nodded as if letting this new information sink in. When he took another bite of cotton candy, he started to look more at home with the situation. 

“Why are you here?” James asked, his words coming out thick with his mouth full. 

“Well,” said Cas, “I want to ask you a few things about that night. . .” Cas paused, “and I'd like it if you could tell me about the Demons.” 

The carnival music played happily in the background, eerily contrasting the topic of conversation. Cas also noted that the park that had been packed with people only a few minutes before was now deserted with the exception of the two of them. Cas shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

The boy's expression looked more disconcerted as he started talking. “They killed them,” he said, looking away. “I closed my eyes, but it was loud.” 

Cas scooted closer to the boy as he talked, feeling remorse at having to ask him this. 

“Who?” Cas asked, though he knew the answer. 

“My aunt and uncle,” said James. And as he talked, Cas noticed a light wind start to form, the air growing colder. 

James continued, letting his cotton candy drop forgotten to the ground. “Their eyes were black. They said they were looking for a man named Dean.” 

Cas felt his stomach turn. _Why would Crowley be looking for Dean?_ he wondered. _Couldn't he just call? And why would these people know where Dean is . . . something is wrong about this. Maybe the Demons were working independently?_ Cas mulled this over with doubt. But, even as he thought, he realized that his theories weren't the only thing that felt wrong. The sky around them had started darkening, black clouds rolling in. Cas looked at James and he seemed distressed. 

“Why?” Cas asked, now needing to raise his voice against the sound of the wind. Around him, tents flapped violently, threatening to pull themselves from the ground. “Why were the demons looking for Dean?” 

James had brought his knees up towards his chest again, looking very much like he had when he'd gone into shock. Cas wished he could comfort him, or at least stop asking questions that made James feel this way, as Cas could only assume that the reason for the drastic change in scenery correlated with the boy's emotions. They were, after all, inside his head. Instead, he knelt down in front of the boy, his face pleading with him for more information. 

“Please,” Cas said, “it's important.” 

The boy nodded, then finally said, “they were looking for an angel. Dean was supposed to have an angel.” 

Cas's chest tightened in panic. At this point, the wind screamed in their ears. “And did they tell him where to find them?” Cas asked him, not realizing that his hands were now clutching the boy's knees. 

But the boy shook his head. “I don't think they knew,” he said. His voice was wavering, and his eyes weren't on Cas anymore. They were looking towards the black skyline, his face upset. 

“They're coming,” James said, sadly. “They always come.” He pulled his hands in tighter, circling them around his knees. Cas looked at the origin of the boy's fear and suddenly understood. He looked as the dark skyline, which he had originally thought were clouds, began shifting. It turned and twisted in thin spirals shooting rapidly towards them, their long tails trailing behind. As they came closer, Cas stood, wrapping his arms around the boy protectively as if he could defend him against the cloud of darkness. But as it came closer, Cas saw the boy obediently open his mouth. 

“James, no!” Cas yelled, but within a second, the smoke was careening into his mouth in droves, filling him. And when it was finished, the park was quiet and the weather calm. The boy's eyes were closed and Cas looked to him putting his hands lightly on his shoulders. 

“James?” he asked hesitantly. There was a pause, then violently the boy's eyes opened. But it wasn't James anymore. Cas was looking at the black eyes of a demon. 

And Cas jumped out of James's dream in surprise, landing him back into the boy's room. He looked down at James's distressed face with pity. Then, reaching down, he touched his forehead with his fingers, soothing the boy's dream. Immediately, James's face relaxed again. _I'm so sorry you had to go through this,_ Cas thought before flying away. 


	10. Rooms

Dean got off the phone, slumping in a chair, dejectedly. “Well,” he said, “Crowley says he has no idea who killed the family, and he claims that it wasn't hell or demons.” 

Dean watched Sam rub at the back of his neck, blinking. “Do we have any reason to listen to him?” he asked. 

Dean looked at the table and stuffed his hands in his pockets, sighing. “Nope,” he said, his voice sounding tired. “But none of this is really making any sense. I mean, not that I believe him, but it's just. . . why?” He sighed. “Why would he need to send a pack of Demon's to spy on us? It's not like he's never been to the bunker before. . . the whole thing stinks to high hell.” 

Cas's mouth turned up into a small smile. Dean sat up, _Don't do that, Cas,_ he thought, looking away. He scooted his chair out loudly scraping it on the floor. “Look,” he said, directing his comments to Sam now, “it's crazy late, and I'm gonna need at least a few hours of shut eye, so I say we call it a night and pick it up tomorrow.” 

Sam and Cas nodded in response, and with that, Dean made his way back to his room in the bunker, falling onto his bed heavily. He laid there for a moment, fully dressed, noting the slackening in his muscles as his eyelids started to fall shut. 

_I really am tired,_ he thought, _maybe tonight I'll actually be able to sleep without. . ._

_No._

And there it was in his head, the reason he couldn't sleep, like a shadow that stalked him only when he was alone. And the familiar image appeared, producing chills on his skin and a cold, metallic taste in his mouth as he stared into the face of Cas, soaking wet and exhausted. It was an image of the night the angel had showed up on the doorstep of the bunker after losing his grace. Dean had looked for the angel for weeks, but he couldn't devote his whole resources to him. Sam was dying, and he had barely made it through with the help of Ezekial who, as Dean later figured out had actually been Gadreel. He sighed, remembering the tough decision to trap Gadreel in holy fire while he let Crowley posses his brother's body to expel him. The whole thing had nearly torn Dean in two. But somehow Sam survived. And Cas did too. Despite the fact that Dean had neglected him and left him to fend for himself. 

And, in guilt, Dean closed his eyes and let the scene of Cas's return to the bunker replay itself behind his eyelids yet again. Cas smiled weakly at the sight of Dean as the door opened. The ex-angel's hair matted to his head, his body sagging as he rested one hand on the door frame. Dean remembered quickly noticing the blood on Cas's jacket where he'd been cut fighting. Cas's shoes were worn almost to shreds, plastered with mud from the miles he'd clearly walked to get here, and the angel's face looked up at him sallow and malnourished. 

“Cas,” Dean had muttered breathlessly as Cas took a step forward then collapsed as if he'd been walking on borrowed life, barely extinguishing his last resources to make it here. To make it home. And Dean caught him, watching Cas's eyes roll back into his head as the hunter picked him up, noting how light and fragile he seemed, unconscious in his arms. 

And, as the memory played in his head, the familiar feeling of guilt and fear resurfaced. The feeling that at any moment, he was about to lose something that was more precious to him than he had ever realized. So, he carried Cas inside, clutching him to himself, soaking both their clothes as he prayed to an absentee God to save the man he loved. 

Suddenly, a knock came at the door, gratefully pulling Dean from his memories. He sat up, walking tiredly to open it. Cas stood in the frame, reminding Dean of the memory, making him shudder. 

“Dean,” said Cas reluctantly, “do you mind if I come in?” 

Dean furrowed his brows curiously, but moved aside, letting the angel into the room. He shut the door behind Cas, and watched as Cas walked straight to the bed, sitting down, and quickly Dean wished he had left the door open. Because this was too much. Too intimate. 

“What's up, buddy?” Dean asked, consciously standing away from the bed. 

Cas looked up at Dean, his hands gripping the edge of the bed, his face hesitant. “Dean, I need to talk to you about something. . . personal,” he said. Dean noticed the tension in Cas's body, and the uncharacteristic uncertainty the angel was displaying. Dean felt his heart beat faster. _He knows,_ he thought, lacing his fingers behind his neck nervously. _Oh god, he knows. . ._

Dean took in Cas's stare as the angel looked up at the hunter in earnest, and Dean wondered how such an innocent face could produce a feeling of dread for him. He peered at Cas, his hands starting to sweat. And Dean wished the only place to sit down wasn't right next to the angel. Dean rocked back onto his heels waiting. Waiting for Cas to tell him he knew how Dean felt, and that he didn't feel it too. Trying to prepare for a way he could get out of it. Could he hide how he really felt if Cas confronted him dead on? 

The angel's pause was too long, and Dean felt trapped. _Just say it,_ Dean thought, desperately. And as if Cas heard him, he finally spoke. _Here it goes,_ Dean thought, his face turning red. But when Cas had finished, Dean processed what he said with surprise, replaying the angel's words: “Dean,” Cas had said, “why are you so unhappy?” 


	11. I'm not ok

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's taken forever to update this, friends. I had school and honestly, I've had some writers block with this story. I'll keep trying to plug through though. Lol. Thanks for the patience!

Dean froze at Cas's words for a moment before answering. Finally, he swallowed. So, he wasn't confronting Dean about his feelings for the angel. _He's worried about my freakin' mood swings,_ Dean thought, trying to resist the urge to be frustrated.He gritted his teeth. He should feel relieved. Cas either didn't know how Dean felt, or he was choosing to ignore it. Either way, Dean was home free. 

But the hunter realized when Cas asked his question that he was equally as unready to share his feelings with the angel as he was to shoulder the burden any longer. He didn't know what he wanted. And realized he wasn't ready to have this conversation as he looked at Cas's worried, expectant face. 

Dean didn't want it. Any of it. And he felt his fingers twitching to take Cas and shove him back out the door of his room. He kept them steady with a deep breath. 

“Why the hell would you think I'm unhappy, Cas?” he asked, his voice coming out defensive and cold, despite trying to bottle it in. 

Cas squinted in reaction to Dean's tone. Or body language? Actually, come to think of it, Cas wasn't all that great at picking up social cues. But as hard as Dean was trying to hide it, it was like the angel could sense the heat of Dean's anger radiating off him. And the fact that his feelings seemed to be on display only aggravated Dean's apprehension. He turned away, unable to look Cas in the face. 

“Well,” said Cas, now talking awkwardly to Dean's back, “I guess it's just that you've seemed a little off lately, that's all. I guess I just wanted to make sure everything was alright. . .” his voice trailed off to the silence of the room. 

Dean turned around, finally looking Cas in the eyes. He shrugged at an attempt at casual, but he paused before spitting out “I'm fine” with a nod. 

For a moment, neither man spoke, letting the uncomfortableness drag on. 

“Ok,” Cas finally said quietly, standing up “I probably shouldn't have said anything,” his voice trailed off. 

Dean looked at the wall. He willed himself not to speak, knowing he was only about to make it all worse, but instead, he found himself blurting out, “Yeah. Probably not.” 

And he immediately wished he could take it back. Cas's face looked like a kicked puppy, and he felt a horrible wrenching feeling in his stomach. He swallowed, hoping he could find it in himself to say something comforting, to pull his arms out of the tight fold they were in at his chest, as if they were attempting to hold his heart in place. But, he was fused there, his eyes boring into Cas, frustration, disappointment and somewhere deep down, desire, pumping through his veins. And he was finding he could barely breathe, let alone offer Cas consolation for what an ass he was being right now. 

Suddenly, Cas's lips drew a tight, sad sympathetic smile and Dean wished he hadn't seen it. Because it was clear that Cas had forgiven him before Dean had even attempted to apologize. _When did he become so understanding?_ Dean wondered, as he recalled Cas beating the shit out of him during the apocalypse days, or threatening to throw Dean back into hell for showing a little bit of sass. 

_You've changed, Cas,_ he thought, looking at the angel. But he had to admit, he had too. The mere fact that he'd let another person find their way so deeply into his psyche spoke to that. He'd always been fine alone. But now his body begged for Cas, and Dean didn't know how to begin to understand the fact that he'd become so hungry and needy for another person. It wasn't him. And he was starting to get a headache. 

So, he didn't say anything as the angel stood, walking quietly to the door. The man moved to shut it behind him as he left, then Cas peeked his head as it closed, letting a quick “I'm sorry,” echo through the room before the door clicked shut. And Dean walked over, leaning his head forward, resting it against the wood as he locked the door, feeling an empty ache filling up his chest. 

“Me too,” Dean whispered quietly to himself. 


	12. So. . .

Something had happened with Cas and Dean, Sam was sure of it. But he had no idea what. When they weren't talking about the case, the two avoided each other, Cas often leaving the house alone for hours at a time, Dean watching him go with a knowing stare. 

It had started out subtle at first, Dean avoiding Cas's eye contact and answering in short, one word answers when the angel would ask him something. But slowly, it had progressed to Dean making weak excuses to leave the room whenever Cas was around, mumbling as he went. 

And right now it had happened again, Dean taking his bowl of cereal to his room when he saw Cas, ignoring the small white puddle of milk that had sloshed out onto the floor as he went, leaving a confused Sam and a frustrated looking Cas in the kitchen. Cas's shoulders sagged a little as he rolled his head back in a very human display of defeat and disappointment before sitting down next to Sam. 

There was a moment of quiet before the hunter looked at the angel, face serious. “Ok,” Sam finally said. “What the hell is up with you two?” 

Cas furrowed his eyebrows, pursing his lips in a display of confusion, shaking his head, but it was unconvincing to say the least. So, Sam continued to stare until he finally broke the angel's performance, resulting in Cas giving off a deep sigh. His shoulders dropped a little, his hands coming up to rest on the table as he laced his fingers together tightly. 

“Alright,” Cas finally exhaled, “It seems that Dean and are going through a bit of a. . .” he paused, then when he spoke again he talked faster. 

“To be honest, Sam, I have no idea,” he said, “Dean seems to be rather upset with me.” He said it very bluntly, confusion painting his face. “All I did was bring up the feelings of unhappiness I've been sensing for awhile from him, hoping I could find a way to help.” 

And before Cas had reached the end of his sentence, Sam's eyes were widening in surprise. “You told him that you can sense his feelings?” he choked. It was one thing for Sam to know, but Dean? It'd probably be safer to reminisce about the apocalypse than to talk openly about his brother's feelings. And he was pretty sure his brother wouldn't feel comforted by the fact that Cas had unsolicited insight into the book of Dean. But Cas wasn't the best at subtlety, so Sam guessed he shouldn't be shocked that the angel would bring it up. Still, he waited for the rest of the story with interest. 

Cas leaned back in his chair, sighing. “I didn't exactly tell him about my ability,” he said, raising his shoulders slightly, his voice lacking confidence, “I just asked him if everything was alright since he'd seemed a little down lately. . .” 

Sam tried to hold back a laugh as he let an “Oh Cas. . .” slip from his lips. He felt bad for the angel, but he'd been here too many times before to not find a little amusement in someone else being at the brunt of Dean's emotional instability. To anyone else, Cas's question would have been innocuous, but for someone so averse to feelings, Dean could be a bit of a landmine. 

But the smile faded from his lips quickly and completely when he really noticed Cas's face. The angel looked crestfallen, staring at the wall pulling his hands from the table and back into his lap. His lips were pursed, eyes far off as if he were replaying the conversation again in his head. 

And Sam realized it wasn't funny, because for some reason, this was very personal to Cas, and Sam wondered if there wasn't something more he was missing. . . 

“Look,” Sam said more gently, “Dean isn't really great at talking about his own feelings.” And Sam found himself strangely putting a hand on Cas's shoulder awkwardly as if the angel needed comforting, though the hunter wasn't exactly consciously sure why he would. 

“It's nothing personal,” Sam continued, letting his hand fall back down. 

And Cas stood up, nodding unconvincingly, “Of course,” he said, pushing his chair back in and moving to leave while mumbling a “thanks, Sam” behind him. 

Sam watched him go, a thought suddenly coming to him. “Hey Cas,” Sam said quietly as the angel walked. Cas stopped, turning towards him. “Just curious, is Dean still sleeping in your bed?” 

And Cas paused for a second, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Not anymore,” he finally said, turning back around, and curiously, Sam thought the angel's voice had sounded a little sad when he'd said it. 


	13. Red

Dean sat on the edge of his bed, 2:00 am glaring at him from the alarm clock on his night stand while he nursed a barely cold beer in the dark. It did little to make the shadowy, box-like edges of the room feel more natural and less constricting. 

The trail to finding the strange source of the demons had been uncomfortably quiet, and Dean, Sam and Cas had found themselves talking about it less and less. And yet, it lurked beneath the surface, the underlying current of apprehension always present that someone had, and probably still was, using demons to find them. 

_Or to watch us,_ Dean had thought more than once, realizing that there was very little chance the demons hadn't located them already. They weren't exactly being covert. Still, they hadn't heard or seen anything in weeks, lulling them into a false sense of security. And for awhile, Dean thought that maybe they'd already left or been taken care of by someone else. . . 

Not that Dean preferred to have another person do his dirty work. If nothing else, the apocalypse had proved he didn't let anything go. And this didn't feel resolved, anyway. Cruelly, his instincts had told him this wasn't over while failing to provide any new insight to what to do next. And so, slowly, Sam and Dean had both began to reluctantly relax into their old lives, talking about the case almost for appearances sake while the bunker's eco-system resumed its natural rhythms. With one exception; Dean couldn't bring himself to be around or talk to Cas. Every time he saw the angel, his stomach dropped a half step, freezing his mouth and filling his mind with the shame and embarrassment of their earlier conversation. He didn't want to/couldn't dissect it right now. And so, he'd avoided Cas, seeking solitude whenever he didn't have a legitimate reason to interact with the man. 

Still, Cas had been starting to make it easy. Really easy. Because for the last few days, Cas would leave the bunker, unexpectedly, and without a word, only to return hours later providing a mumbled excuse to Sam about needing some air when he would ask where he went. And, after the first few weak excuses, Sam had stopped asking altogether. And Dean never asked at all. 

Dean took another sip of his drink, blinking hard against the barely visible gray outlines of objects in his room, almost wishing he'd had the courage to ask the angel where he'd been going. Because then maybe he would have told Dean himself. He'd have preferred to find out from Cas. 

He furrowed his eyebrows as he contemplated the fact that he hadn't been planning on sleeping in Cas's room again. He really hadn't. And he'd stayed away from the angel's bed since their. . . discussion. But another night with little sleep and a massive headache had started to derail his sense of self restraint. Besides, Cas wasn't home, and there was little chance he would be caught. At least that was his logic. But he couldn't explain what logic had led him to tug at the small book he'd found when he'd walked into his room earlier that night and had spied it, barely visible behind a box at the top of Cas's closet. 

Still, he'd pried it free from between the box and wall, pulling out the volume and letting it fall open into his hands. And he could see the page Cas had last been looking at, his fingers tracing along the black brush strokes that formed an angels skeletal structure. In awe, he touched the ribs and vertebrae with the pad of his index finger wondering if Cas felt the force of his wings all the time, the weight bearing down on him. Soon, though, his attention was drawn away, his eyes skimming the fresh ink of Cas's handwriting where he'd scrawled notes in the margins. 

Dean had squinted at one section, trying to make sense of it for a moment before discovering, disappointingly, that it must have been written in Enochian. And most of it had been. Except one sentence, spanning the margin of the book, written small enough that it could almost be missed: _The demons are looking for me._

The sentence rolled around Dean's brain now that he had made his way back into his room, his body managing to find a few beers on the way in, on autopilot, but somehow not able to have the mental capacity to find the light switch. And his thoughts tried to find a spot to land, his mind having no idea how to process the red heat that pooled in his stomach when he thought of Cas out there somewhere, wandering around the streets with a target on his back. Again. 

And he was furious. How long had Cas known the demons were here for him? Days? Weeks? Suddenly, he wondered if there hadn't been more to “James's Dream” than Cas had let on. Was he trying to protect them? And, it made Dean question Cas's conversation with him the other day. Was Cas really any better at discussing feelings than Dean? _Maybe a_ _little._ . . his mind said, betraying him. Still, the timing was suspicious. People often tried to resolve things, check on the people they cared about before they did something drastic. Or stupid. Dean would know. 

_Oh god,_ Dean had thought, his mind coming to the simplest conclusion he could think of; _he's been trying to lure the demons into coming out. . . using himself as bait._

Dean clenched his beer tighter into his fist, bringing the rim of the bottle up to his forehead while sucking in a deep, violent breath. And then, in one swift motion, he hurled the glass at the wall, shattering it, unable to see the explosion, but the sound reverberating in his ears anyway, his blood pumped with heat as he imagined the wet stain dripping from the wall onto the floor. He clenched at the edge of the bed, trying to still himself, before standing and pulling his coat and bag out of the closet. 

He didn't even bother to try and explain himself when a confused, bedheaded Sam wandered into the hallway as he slammed his door. Or when he followed him out to the car with a worried “Dean?” falling from his mouth. And he almost didn't notice as Sam's pajama clad form got smaller and smaller as the roar of the impala took him away, accelerating faster and with more abandon than he'd ever remembered driving it before. 


	14. Pieces

Cas was back at the scene of the murder. By now, the yellow police tape had been removed, and the house cleared of any signs of trauma. In fact, it was kind of peaceful, in a way. And quiet. If you could allow yourself to forget that two people were brutally killed there. 

The silence accentuated the sound of Cas's shoes as he walked. He'd been here more than once since he'd visited James's head, and every time he paced the house as if it held some clue he'd somehow overlooked even though he knew it didn't. It was simply a house now haunted by the knowledge that these people had died. Because of Cas. Someone wanted to find him. Someone wanted to find Dean. 

Cas felt the uncomfortable itch return as his mind drifted back to the book he'd caught Sam reading the other day. He'd picked it up, surprised at the contents, finding it amusing at first. He'd never seen his species from a human's point of view, and he was interested in understanding it, even if most of what he found was rather simplistic. What he didn't expect, though, was the insight he gleaned into their current situation. Or rather, the theory. His hypotheses was half baked at best, but the idea, though disturbing, wouldn't leave him. It's just, the Demons didn't make sense. And something deep down told him he would be a fool to dismiss this possibility. So he was here to get to the truth. Still, he hoped to God he was wrong. 

Cas worked out the thought with each step, trying to make it smaller under his feet. But the knowledge that demons had been looking for him through Dean had been at the forefront of his mind for days. He wasn't hiding. If the demons really were looking for him, they were doing a poor job of it, because Cas knew, coming here was just as good as offering himself on a platter. But he'd come here anyway, multiple times, in hopes that he could draw them out and find out the truth. Without involving Dean. But tonight was different and he knew it. If he was right, they would come. 

Cas continued making his round through the house and was a bit surprised no one had come to clear it out yet, but then again, it had been an active crime scene for weeks. He walked over to a glossy picture frame and held it up to his eyes, peering at a picture of a smiling couple and a younger version of James. _His aunt and uncle,_ Cas concluded, and wondered, for the first time, why James wasn't raised by his parents. He wondered if he'd lost them, too. And suddenly, he felt keenly aware of just how alone James was in the world and how Cas was at least partly responsible. It made him start to feel sick, because, despite knowing he had nothing to do with Dean's upbringing, he couldn't help but imagine him in a similar situation as he looked at James's small face. Dean had been thrust into this life too soon. Lost both of his parents. One to death and one to the despair of it. 

There had been a time when Cas would have had little understanding about losing an emotional bond like that. It wasn't as if he'd experienced a normal family dynamic as a “young angel.” In fact, Cas wasn't even sure if he'd really ever been young. But being on earth had introduced him to the phenomena of childhood and innocence. He'd felt it with Hercules and he'd seen it in James. And somehow, he'd learned, without anyone telling him, that innocence was meant to be nurtured, at least in youth. But the world was also cruel, and monsters preyed on little children and Dean and Sam had learned how to hold a gun before their arms were long enough to reach down the length of the barrel. 

Dean wasn't a child, anymore. But Cas thought he could see some of the ancient ache he held inside when it came to being cared for. Which is why he thought he understood why Dean had gotten upset with him for checking up on him the other day. The bigger question, though, was why Cas had done it in the first place. It was one thing to ask Dean in passing how he was doing. It had been an entirely different dynamic, though, he realized, to sit Dean down and admit to noticing his feelings. It was intimate and personal. And if Dean had been upset about that, he wondered just how angry he would be if he ever realized how privy Cas was to Dean's emotions. Cas had crossed a line, and he knew it. 

But, for some reason, he was more reckless with Dean. He let himself slide into actions that lacked the discipline of an angel and smacked more of someone functioning through a lens of emotional response. 

He'd fallen from heaven for Dean, and he still had trouble dissecting the meaning of that. And yet, when, one drunk night, Dean had told him about his future experience Zachariah had sent him to where the Croatoan virus had demolished the world, he hadn't been at all surprised to hear that he had stayed by Dean's side to the end. He had however, been quite a bit more skeptical about the orgies Dean reluctantly admitted to Cas being part of. But then again, Dean was drunk. He might have been joking with him. He'd been told he sometimes misinterpreted Dean's jokes. 

But, when it came down to it, Cas realized he would stay with Dean for as long as the hunter would let him. Actually, he was glad to be with Sam, too. But the connection was different, Cas admitted to himself, even if he didn't fully understand why that would be. 

But the thought faded away as he thought of Sam's book. He would stay with Dean, provided he wasn't putting him in danger. But he had brought danger to their doorstep, and he continued to do it, so Cas wondered why he was even thinking about what he would do next, because the very potent reality was that there would most likely not be a “next” after tonight. This was potentially a suicide mission. And part of him wished he could have properly said goodbye to Dean instead of whispering it to the other side of Dean's door like a prayer. But he couldn't risk Dean following him. 

And he set that regret aside, pulling out his angel blade and dragging the tip of it across his thumb, pulling a red stream of steady blood free. He crouched down to the wooden floorboards of the kitchen, painting a slow symbol across the glossy finish. Then, quietly, he placed the palm of his hand on the sigil, closing his eyes. 

He felt the energetic connection immediately as a wave of energy washed over him. And he lifted his hand, wiping red marks on the outside of Dean's jeans he was wearing. He exhaled. It was done. There was no turning back now. 

With that realization, Cas raised his weapon as he heard a sound near the door. _That was fast,_ Cas thought, making his way towards it. But when he walked around the corner, he was met with surprise, because in front of him, jaw tight and looking angry, was Dean. 


	15. Quakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I totally suck at updating this story. I'm sorry, peeps. I get so caught up in my other stories that sometimes I lose a little bit of motivation for this one. But, the comments and support are appreciated and I wanted you to know that. <3 you guys. 
> 
> Also, It's been a few months, so if there are any continuity errors in this one, I blame the fact I'm starting to forget the plot of my own story. Lol ;)
> 
> A big thank-you to all of you who stuck around. I'm not sure I would have your patience :)

“No.” Cas wasn't even sure where he found his voice because the air had left him. He didn't even bother explaining what he meant. He just said it again, his voice losing quality as he walked toward Dean. “No,” he said. “No Dean. No. You have to go. Right now.” 

But, as angry as he was coming across, Dean had him matched. “No?” the hunter spat, “Are you freakin' kidding me right now? No? What the hell, Cas?” Dean's jaw was tight, his eyes livid as he spoke. And the energy between the two men was charged and intense. The last time Dean had looked at Cas like that, he'd beaten him until he was a bleeding mess underneath him. And a weird part of Cas remembered that moment, not fondly, but with a certain respect for what it was—a moment of honesty. 

Cas glanced down to Dean's hands, balled into tight fists at his sides, and the angel swallowed, nodding in understanding. 

“You figured it out,” Cas said dully, not fully committing to his words as his eyes darted around the room. “How?” 

“I found the book,” Dean said, haltingly. “How long have you known these bastards were after you, anyway? Since you went to visit the kid?” 

Cas hesitated, but Dean read the look on his face as confirmation. 

“Damn it, Cas,” he said softly. Then, a bit more brokenly: “I thought we were over this.” 

Cas squinted, tilting his head in confusion. “Over what?” 

“Over you going off on your own. Over you setting yourself up as some kind of martyr,” Dean looked furious, his fingers twitching at his sides like at any moment he could throw a punch or break something. In fact, Cas found himself waiting for just that. It wasn't beyond the hunter to find his emotional outlet at the edge of his fists. 

But, what he wasn't prepared for was when Dean suddenly scooted back to the couch, deflating dejectedly as he sat down, propping his elbows on his knees and running his hands tiredly across his face. 

Dean's expression softened a little as he hesitated. Cas zeroed in on Dean's face, seeing for the first time the lines and furrowed brows. 

“You're worried,” Cas said slowly. 

Dean gave Cas an incredulous look. “Of course I'm worried you asshole,” he spat. “When you find out demons are after you, the first thing you do is you tell me and Sam. Not go out looking for them on your own like you have some sort of crazy death wish!” 

“Cas,” Dean choked, continuing. “Don't you get it?” The hunter's jaw was clamped tight, his lips pursed as he looked up at a light on the ceiling. There was a long pause, and then: “I keep having to watch you die.” 

Cas looked in Dean's eyes and Cas couldn't only see it. He could feel the anxiety pouring off the hunter in waves. Cas vaguely marveled at how many times Dean's expressions conflicted with emotions Cas could feel radiating from him. It often left Cas confused and frustrated. But not now. Now he could not only feel it, but he could see it clearly on the hunter's face. The concern. For him. 

“Please,” Dean whispered. “Please stop doing this to me.” 

Cas swallowed, feeling a sense of guilt creeping into his chest. He didn't want to put Dean though this. But, as his mind drifted back to the smooth sketches inside the Seraphim book back at the bunker, he reminded himself he had to. He had no choice. 

“I—” he started, feeling the sudden urge to apologize. But then he felt it. The microscopic vibrations in the air. Too subtle for humans, but the movement, to an angel was unmistakable. There wasn't any more time. 

“I'm sorry Dean,” Cas said, his voice changing back to a commanding tone. He needed to get Dean out of here. Now. 

“You need to go,” Cas said, reaching forward. “You don't understand,” he continued. “This isn't something you can help with.” 

Then, as if it could ever be enough, Cas whispered, almost to himself. “Goodbye, Dean.” 

Dean's raised his hands to stop Cas, recognition finding him as Cas's hand neared. Out of the corner of his eye, Cas could see the lights in the room flickering as the floor started to shake, The photo of James and his aunt and uncle falling to the ground with the vibrations and cracking with impact. 

“Don't you dare,” Dean said acridly, pulling away from Cas's outstretched arm but he was cut off as Cas's fingertips touched the warmth of his forehead, sending him back safely to the bunker. 

“I'm sorry Dean,” Cas said to the empty space on the couch where Dean had been. But he didn't have time to dwell on it as the window to his left shattered in a loud firework of broken glass. Cas closed his eyes as the bulbs in the overhead light finally blew from the strain. And the room went dark. The quaking stopped and Cas held his breath. They were here. 

Cas stared into the darkness, tightening his grip on his angel blade in the palm of his hand: 

_Here we go._


	16. Outlines

“Damn it, Cas!” Dean said as he blinked against his pitch black surroundings. 

He didn't need light to see. He knew what Cas had done, and it took him exactly two seconds to logic where Cas had sent him. 

And where Cas still was. Alone. Probably about to die. 

Dean's chest tightened, his eyes still replaying the earthquake of power that surged into the house. 

“Shit, shit, shit!” Dean yelled, feeling his way towards the door when suddenly, it swung open forcefully, Sam's shadowy outline in the hallway, pointing a gun in his face. 

Sam hesitated as the light fell on Dean's form. 

“Dean?” he questioned, clearly more than a little surprised that the sudden noise of an intruder had, in fact, been his brother. Then, more forcefully, Sam croaked “Where the hell have you been, Dean? I've been looking for you everywhere. And,” he paused, a thought hitting him, “how did you get here, anyway?” 

But Dean was bolting away from him, barely listening. 

“Cas,” he said. One word in explanation. And it was full of fury. 

“C'mon Sam,” Dean said, his voice more angry than Sam had heard him in a long time. He was practically running down the halls. “I have an angel to kill,” then more quietly: “if the demon's haven’t already done the job.” 

* * * 

Cas tilted his head, trying to quiet his mind as Dean's prayers came pouring into his awareness. The hunter was practically shouting at him now, sentences strung together with barely enough words in between each expletive to make any sense. 

The angel felt the sting of Dean's words as the ground continued to shake, the light outlets bursting with sparks not unlike the night that Cas had met Dean and Bobby in the shed so long ago. And the house groaned, breaking in the pressure, a gigantic fracture spreading from the ground to the ceiling groaning as a crack grew upward, splitting the wood. 

“ _If you get hurt tonight, I'll kill you myself,”_ Dean's prayer rang inside the angel's head. And Cas couldn't help but feel a bittersweet sentiment at the hunter's angry promise. 

_Just say goodbye,_ Cas thought to himself sadly in response, but he wasn't even sure he meant it. Because it wouldn't be Dean to let it all go that way. To give up the fight. It was one of the main reasons Cas had always admired the hunter so much. And it was just one reason of many Cas needed to do whatever it took to keep the hunter safe, despite Dean's need to be a martyr. Even if it cost Cas his own life. 

Cas grounded himself with his blade, fingers digging into the divots of the ancient weaponry, feeling comforted by its heavy weight. His entire existence had known the glint of light that bounced off the metal's silver shaft, and he used its familiarity to convince himself that this would just be another battle in the midst of countless others he'd fought in. 

After all, the angelic blades had been forged inside the same conjuring fires as the angels themselves, and it was part of him. 

Cas knew he wasn't the only heavenly being that saw the blade as more than a powerful accessory. Though the discrepancies were invisible to the naked eye, Cas knew, every blade was unique—built around the angel they served. An appendage of both their grace and angelic calling. 

He raised his weapon in the air thinking of its symbol. Of what it meant to be an angel. To obey. To fight. Even if he'd left heaven's ideals and causes behind, Cas could still serve one purpose. One person. Dean. 

Another light bulb blew, abandoning Cas to the darkness. Then, everything went still. 

Then, slowly, Cas could see their shadows as they appeared to him. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Five clearly demonic forms walking forward with strict militaristic training in their advance to Cas. They stopped just beside the angel circling him in a ring of darkness. 

And this close, Cas could see it—the skeletal, eerie features that claimed every demon with the marks of hell. Of torture. A lack of humanity that even monsters didn't posses. Each of them dark and dripping with power. 

But it wasn't the sense of darkness that made Cas suddenly involuntarily shiver, but the reminder of the light. The ashy outline of each demon's scorched and impotent wings. The glint of an angel blade inside every hand, not unlike Cas's own. 

And, perhaps the most chilling effect—the way Cas could clearly make out the damage to each human vessel, its soul long lost and dead, leaving only the broken remains of what used to be his angelic brothers. His sisters. 

“Castiel,” a voice came, waking him from his hypnotic gaze. The demon's voice had changed from when Cas had heard it last, long, long ago, but Cas recognized it anyway. Despite her black eyes. Despite the way her form barely resembled anything of its former self. 

“No,” Cas whispered and closed his eyes, anger filling his chest. Cas knew heaven's crimes better than almost anyone. Knew it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility for ancient angelic rumors to hold some truth. But, even if a part of him had come here tonight knowing it was possible, another part of Cas was revolted by the idea to the point of denial. 

But, to his dismay, he'd been right. And, standing in front of him was the proof: 

Heaven had created their own demonic army. 


	17. Light

Dean was stressed. Sam could see it in his eyes, the frantic motions, the clipped responses. Still, everything happened too quickly as the younger brother watched Dean pack, trying to glean some kind of clue as to what was happening. He shot unanswered questions Dean's way which, largely went ignored. 

By the time they'd hot wired a car and were on the road, Sam had come to one conclusion: Cas was in trouble. 

Sam sped down each dark street, watching his brother's knee bounce from the corner of his eye. He could hear it, too. The rhythmic drumming of his older brother's nervous tick against the middle console. And, he knew just how telling it was that there was no music. Only drums, the engine and silence. 

“Dean,” Sam tried again. “What exactly are we getting ourselves into. Is it the demons?” 

Dean rubbed his fingers hard across his lips, his jaw tight. “Yeah,” he said, finally. “Yeah, I think so.” He leaned forward, gripping the dash, pushing his hands against it. 

“He's gonna get himself killed, Sammy. You know he's been doing this for days?” 

Sam pursed his lips, keeping his eyes on the road. “Doing what, Dean? I don't really know what's going on, here,” he said, not bothering to hide his annoyed tone. 

Dean rubbed at his face. “Well, that makes two of us,” he said. “All I know is that the demons that killed James's aunt and uncle were here looking for Cas. And, the idiot decided it was a good idea to take them on alone. He's been. . . ” his voice cracked. “He's been strolling the streets for weeks, looking for them behind our backs” 

Sam furrowed his eyebrows, confused. “Yeah, but Demons, Dean. Cas could finish them with his eyes closed. They should be running from _him._ ” 

Dean shook his head, lips pursed. “No.” he said. “It's something more. I could see it in his face. I don't know what the hell is going on, but I know Cas. There's a reason he kept this from us, Sam.” Dean's knee was bouncing again, his shoulders tense. “They can hurt him,” his brother said, nodding tightly. “I know it.” 

Dean's fists were balled now, and Sam knew his brother well enough to know when it was time to take a different tack. Dean was clearly out of his mind with rage. But, only someone who knew him as well as Sam would be able to see through it to the truth; Dean was worried. 

“Turn here,” Dean suddenly barked, pointing. 

Sam careened around the corner, praying there weren't any patrol cars in the neighborhood when he heard the tires screech. 

“Left.” 

Sam followed his brother's directions blindly, barely tapping on the brakes through stop signs, keyed up by Dean's demeanor. 

And Sam couldn't help but feel the anxiety creep down inside his own skin as he realized how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel. He knew his brother's worries. Knew Dean's fears about what they were driving toward: 

Ashy wingprints and a bloody trench coat. 

Sam shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind of the image. He'd watched Cas die before. Dean had, too. It was always painful to lose someone they cared about. The weight of grief was threaded through the both of them by this point. Still, you could never prepare yourself for the dark reality of loss. Not even when a part of you might know it was coming. 

_Stop,_ Sam thought, willing himself not to get caught up in Dean's worries. Dean had a tendency to overreact, especially when it came to Cas. 

“Here,” Dean said finally, already opening the door before Sam had even parked their stolen car behind the dark shadow of the impala. And, in a moment, Sam was chasing his brother across the yard. 

_This is familiar,_ Sam thought, almost pausing as he took in the surroundings. Of course. The crime scene. They were at James's house. 

He pulled his gun out, training it on the house, Dean doing the same as they reached the door. Sam watched his brother pull at the door handle. Locked. 

Dean glanced back at his younger brother, giving him the unspoken signal. Sam nodded, tightening his grip on his weapon, ready to provide backup. In a flash, Dean kicked at the door, wood splintering around the handle. 

Then, the light. 

It started small. Far away. Growing faster, brighter, stretching through the windows and across the lawn, exploding past them in waves, loud and powerful enough to knock the brothers off their feet; First Dean, then Sam, tumbling to the grass in the impact. 

Then, nothing. 

“Cas!” Dean was the first to his feet, racing inside with Sam on his tail, bursting through the door: “Cas!” 

Sam followed his older brothers's frantic yelling, a few steps behind. _Ashy wingprints and a bloody trench coat,_ Sam thought again, pushing the image aside more forcefully when, suddenly, the older hunter fell silent. 

He had to nudge Dean to the side a bit to see past where his brother was blocking the way. 

There was blood. A lot of it. But no ash. No trench coat. And, no angel. 

Sam braved a glance at Dean, his older brother's jaw tight, the mask of anger slipping, his gun lowering slowly. 

Finally, quietly Dean looked at the floor: “Damn it, Cas.” 

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is [@justrandomspnstuff](http://justrandomspnstuff.tumblr.com/) feel free and come say hello! :)


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